


The Thirteenth Night

by dancingpenguin57



Series: Our Last Hope [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Deleted Scenes, Dream Sex, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 12:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingpenguin57/pseuds/dancingpenguin57
Summary: A deleted scene from Chapter 7 of Our Last Hope. Rey interrupts Ben's sleep.---Updated with a second chapter, from Rey's point of view.





	1. Ben

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very early scene idea I had when I was plotting out Episode IX, because I love me some Force-dream shenanigans. 
> 
> I removed it because I couldn’t figure out how to reconcile it with the way Ben was turning out. He’s so forward and brutally honest with Rey, and if he saw her dreaming of him this way he’d probably wake her up like “we should just do this for realsies”. I love him that way, but I love this angsty/unsure Ben just as much.
> 
> So although I’m calling this a “deleted scene” it’s not actually canon to Our Last Hope. Anyway, it’s fun, so I’m posting it.

Ben stretched out on the bed, refusing to open his eyes. He was accustomed to constant interruptions to his sleep. His precise internal clock told him he still had several hours before he needed to wake, so he stubbornly lay as still as possible and waited for his mind to settle again.

Then he heard her moan.

His eyes snapped open so quickly that his entire head jolted.

They weren’t on the Resurrection, and he wasn’t lying in bed. They were in some other place; a strange place full of light. There was a bed, though; he stood over it watching her. There was someone else with her, on top of her, and he choked on his breath when he recognised that it was himself -- another Ben, one that she had conjured. They were in a dream. More accurately _he_ was in _her_ dream. And she was dreaming of him.

Other-Ben was naked from the waist up, and there was a watery, blurry quality to him, because he had been formed from an imperfect memory. Below the waist the phantom dissolved into vaguery, because Rey didn’t know what was down there yet, but there was a faint flutter of movement to suggest that the not-pelvis was grinding against hers. Ben had no idea how something could be so erotic and so innocent at the same time, and his mind stuttered at the insane contradiction.

Her chest was bare too, but other-Ben’s well-defined hands were roaming it, obscuring the view. Other-Ben moved his lips from Rey’s to kiss her neck instead, and she gazed up into the dreamworld for a moment before her eyes rolled back into her head, fluttering closed as she moaned again.

Ben knelt beside her, his face hovering over hers, drinking in her expression. If she opened her eyes right now she would see him. She would know, and they would wake up, and they would face the consequences.

Logic managed to overcome him long enough for him to rip himself from her. He sprang from the bed -- the real one, back in the physical world, where it was dark and quiet and everything made sense -- and hurried to the ensuite, closing the door firmly behind him. He stalked to the other end of the small room, as far from her as he could manage, before pausing to reach out with his senses. Mercifully his movements had not woken her.

Immediately he brought to his mind’s eye the look on her face; the way she had sounded; the way her back was arched ever so slightly. He meticulously seared every detail into his memory so he would never forget. It was so much better than anything he had ever imagined. One hand tugged at his pants while the other reached down to begin stroking, the pace gradually quickening as he began to weave the precious new discoveries into all of his well-tread fantasies.

His awareness of Rey shifted, fading. He knew what it meant. His hand didn’t stop.

She was awake. She was awake, in his bed, on the other side of the door. She could walk in here at any second and demand to know what he was doing. Maybe she already knew what he was doing.

Maybe she knew what he was doing and she _liked_ it. Maybe her curiosity would get the better of her, maybe she’d come in and shut the door behind her, maybe she would beckon him toward her to press her up against it. Maybe she’d let him kiss her, touch her, lift her up so they were level, and then maybe she’d wrap her legs around him to hold herself steady when her feet could no longer reach the floor. Maybe she’d moan for him louder than she had for the other-Ben; maybe she wouldn’t mind if he moaned, too. Maybe he could make her feel so good that she would want to stay with him.

She was small, and he wasn’t, but he knew she would fit around him _perfectly_ \-- that wasn’t a maybe, that was _true_ , he knew it in his bones, because any other option was unacceptable.

He came. Then he panicked, hating himself for his naive daydream. _Maybe she would like it? You’re an idiot_. She would be disgusted. She probably already was disgusted -- she was awake, and he’d been in here too long for her to not be suspicious.

Stupidly he got into the shower and ran the water bitingly cold, standing under it for thirteen long minutes before re-dressing and returning to the bedroom. Rey was curled on her side, facing away from him. She was still awake, but he decided to give her the opportunity to pretend that she wasn’t. He pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and paused, eyes frozen on the sheet spread out between them.

Daily fresh-pressed bed linens were one of the few luxuries he insisted on after assuming the mantle of Supreme Leader. His restless sleep pattern meant the sheets were always creased on his side when morning came, but the Neutral Zone which separated Rey’s spot from his was usually pristinely smooth and untouched.

It wasn’t smooth now. Beneath her hip a small patch was crumpled, and the entire sheet seemed strained toward that point, as if something had tugged it desperately. As if it had been twisted around her hand.

Something _impossible_ began to occur to him, and he squashed down the thought before it could fully form, because his sanity had already been tested enough tonight.

He slid into the bed with a delicacy that he had been unaware he possessed before that moment.

“I’m awake,” Rey said. She thought he was moving slowly so as not to disturb her. “I thought you could tell.”

“I can,” he said, and then nothing else, because how could he now explain his actions?

“Why were you showering? It’s early.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” It was true. “I thought it would help.”

“Okay.” After a few beats of silence she continued. “I had a dream.” There was something strained about her voice, as though she were trying very hard to force a casual tone, and he knew this was a test.

“Bad?” _Please say no please say no please say no_.

Her body uncoiled marginally. “I thought you knew; that you could hear me when I’m asleep.”

He chose his words carefully. “Your thoughts leak out to me when you’re relaxed, as if you release them. But dreams are different: they’re not really _thoughts_ , they’re… chaotic. Sometimes I know when you’re dreaming, but the content is difficult to interpret.” _That’s all true_ , he reassured himself.

She turned to face him then, seeming more at ease now. “I think I know what you mean. I felt one of your dreams, a few nights ago. I just got vague impressions, mostly. Flutters. Is it like that?”

He nodded to confirm. _It_ was _like that_ , he reminded himself. _Not a lie_.

“Okay,” she said, sounding satisfied. She turned from him, settling against her pillow as though preparing for rest, and he thought the torture was finally over. But the galaxy hated him, and so she spoke again.

“No, it wasn’t a bad dream.”

A few minutes later she was asleep, and he burned with envy as he watched ceiling until morning.

 


	2. Rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to.
> 
> This is now definitely not canon to Our Last Hope, because it's too early in that story for Rey to be this giddy and free around him. She's cute this way, though.

Rey woke suddenly from her dream with an ache between her legs. She had had dreams like that before, but not for many years, and never about a specific person.

She registered immediately that it was very early and that Ben wasn’t in the bed with her. She sat up and scanned the room. The small bar of light under the bathroom door revealed his position.

She flopped back down onto the mattress, frustrated. She didn’t know another place she could go, alone, at this hour, without raising his suspicion. She’d just have to wait until he was done and then claim the bathroom for herself.

Several impatient moments later she heard the shower turn on and groaned to herself. _Seriously_? Was that necessary, right now? It wasn’t even morning.

Suddenly she realised that she was now guaranteed a few undisturbed moments. Without further hesitation she snaked a hand beneath her waistband and clenched her thighs around it, stroking herself with firm little circles.

She didn’t know how long it took him to shower -- he was always dressed and ready for the day by the time she woke up -- so she would have to be quick if she didn’t want to be caught.

 _Would that be a bad thing?_ Something inside her asked. _Would you hate it if he saw you; if he walked over and perched himself on the edge of the bed and watched you?_

He’d look down at her with _that_ expression. The one she’d seen the day that he brought her here. He’d lean in close and then all she’d see would be his big brown eyes and the awe in them. Her own eyes fluttered closed, but she quickly opened them again when she realised that he wouldn’t want that; he’d want her to watch him watch her.

She knew, in her bones, that if she asked him to touch her he would. He’d reach out slowly with both hands: one to take hold of her own desperately pulsing fingers, and the other to replace them. Her hips lifted up as if they really could meet his touch, and the increased friction was so good that she continued to rock against her/his fingers, because he would like that. He would like her taking what she wanted.

She was _so close_ , but he wouldn’t like that at all. He wouldn’t want her to go without anything. He would increase his pressure just a bit, increase his speed just a bit, just enough to make it _perfect_ , and his eyes would bore into to her and he’d tell her to come for him. And she would. She _did_.

When the roaring in her ears died down she registered the sound of the shower still running. He was still there, safely on the other side of the door; he hadn’t seen her, he didn’t know. She told herself firmly that she was _not_ disappointed. She was easy to convince, at this glowy moment when everything seemed light and airy. She danced across the room on wobbly legs to the small side table where he kept a bottle of water and two cups. He had only had one, before, but now she was here and so he had two. She giggled stupidly to herself as she poured a few drops of water onto a tissue and used it to clean her fingers.

She curled back up on her side of the bed ( _her side_ ), and returning to the scene of the crime helped to sober her marginally.

Finally there was silence again, and he returned. Her heart flipped when she realised he had turned the bathroom light off before opening the door. It was such an insignificant little courtesy, but somehow it meant _everything_.

It flipped again when he paused at the side of his bed ( _his_ bed, but she was in it, had just finished touching herself to the thought of him while laying right here) and then slid into it with delicate deliberateness, so as not to wake her. She decided to let him know he needn’t worry about disturbing her.

“I’m awake,” Rey said, and as the words left her mouth realisation crashed over her and she knew she was an idiot. He knew she was awake; of course he knew. What was it he had told her? ‘ _You screamed it all out to me, every single detail, every single night._ ’ He had seen what her sleeping mind had conjured, and instead of indulging her he had retreated to the bathroom and _taken a shower_ to wash her thoughts from him.

This was fine.

“I thought you could tell,” she added, only trying a little bit to keep the bitterness from her tone.

“I can,” he admitted, shocking her. She waited for further explanation but he was apparently satisfied to leave it at that. She wasn’t.

She felt a malicious desire to hear him admit what had happened between them. “Why were you showering? It’s early.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought it would help.” It sounded true, and delicious doubt crept into her. Maybe he didn’t know after all.

“Okay… I had a dream,” she tested, congratulating herself on keeping her tone steady and casual.

“Bad?” Ben sounded genuinely concerned, and even though he couldn’t see her face she turned her head into her pillow to hide her grin, because now she truly knew that he had no idea what she had dreamt.

 _Tell him_ , a treacherous part of her cajoled, but her post-orgasmic giddiness was beginning to fade, and all she could think about were the consequences.

“I thought you knew; that you could hear me when I’m asleep.”

His explanation was so reasonable that she silently chided herself for not realising it before. “Your thoughts leak out to me when you’re relaxed, as if you release them. But dreams are different: they’re not really _thoughts_ , they’re… chaotic. Sometimes I know when you’re dreaming, but the content is difficult to interpret.”

She turned to face him then, now feeling completely at ease. “I think I know what you mean. I felt one of your dreams, a few nights ago. I just got vague impressions, mostly. Flutters. Is it like that?”

He nodded, and she remembered that _she_ had been part of his dream that night.

“Okay.” She turned away from him again, hiding another grin. “No, it wasn’t a bad dream.”

She heard his breathing become slow and steady, as if he were meditating, and the gentle rhythm of it sent her to sleep.


End file.
